


Sweet Apology

by Mere_Mortifer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Confessions, Confused Dean Winchester, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Cunnilingus, Dean Winchester Gives Oral Sex, Dean Winchester Has a Crush, Dean Winchester Has a Heart, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester is Protective of Reader, Embarrassed Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Love Confessions, Making Out, Making Up, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Neck Kissing, POV Alternating, POV Dean Winchester, POV Female Character, POV Sam Winchester, Porn with Feelings, Reader Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Vaginal Sex, make-up sex, safe sex, shy reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-23 11:36:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20339476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mere_Mortifer/pseuds/Mere_Mortifer
Summary: The plan was to watch a movie in Dean's room, but without Sam to help her feel less awkward, it's no surprise that she ends up saying something stupid - and make Dean think shedislikeshim, of all things, when she has a gigantic crush on the guy.They start yelling at each other, soon enough they're kissing, and then - well, Dean's bed gets put to good use.It kind of sucks, though, that as soon as they're done Dean puts his clothes back on leaves her like nothing happened.Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.Well, not really. He's just absolutely clueless.I swear, if these two don't open their mouths and talk...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! The key word today is Miscommunications, A.K.A People Hide Their Feelings And They Subsequently Break Their Own Heart.  
God, writing this was fun. I hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> It was beta-read by [Aingel Cethlenn](https://aingealcethlenn.tumblr.com/) and [mostly-shawn](https://mostly-shawn.tumblr.com/), thank you so much for the help <3
> 
> The title comes from [Tomorrow's Gonna Be A Brighter Day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlH3HdZO6Fc) by Jim Croce - 'cause I'm hell bent on putting at least an old-ass song in everything that involves Dean. 
> 
> Btw chapter two is already completed and chapter three is in the works, so expect regular updates if you're interested in reading more of this.

So, to summarize: she’s eating Fruity Loops, in an underground bunker, at the same table as two certified living legends in the hunting community. The_ monster _ hunting community, may she remind you in case you lost the memo.

She is, apparently, very good at identifying and theoretically killing said monsters – although God forbid they ever ask her to join in on the action. She admires Sam and Dean for what they do, but she's fine staying behind the scenes: rummaging through old lore books and giving herself a headache is as far as she'll go. She has proven herself useful in multiple occasions, so no shame there. 

Sam confessed to her, on the one memorable occasion when he had drunk enough to be tipsy, that he was more than happy she has to interest in hunting. "It's my life and I love it", he said, "but it sucks _all_ the ass and you shouldn't do it. Everyone fucking dies. If you got hurt I'd be sad about it for _at least_ six months straight. I'd grow a beard and all."  
"What would Dean do?", she asked in morbid curiosity.  
"'Dunno, drink and throw every chair and lamp he sees on the ground, maybe? He does that a lot. Just - never hunt, okay?"  
"I'll do it for the sake of your poor furniture", she responded, and she never changed her mind. 

Sorry, sometimes the _ crazy _ hits her all at once, and she needs to do a recap of the situation. Where was she? Oh, right: she was looking at Dean. (What else is new?)

Dean's sprawled on the wooden chair like a bored king, dead guy's robe at least two sizes too big on his broad shoulders. It's one of those rare instances where he slept well the night before, and he looks cozy and relaxed and roughly fifteen years younger than yesterday.  
She's trying so hard not to openly stare at him that her cereal got all mushy in the meantime.  
"Are you sure Jody can deal with this on her own?", Dean is saying, oblivious to her thoughts. "Seems to me like she's already got her hands full, with the girls and all."  
On the other side of the table, Sam sips his coffee and nods. "Yeah, hopefully, it'll be just the one werewolf. I told Jody to call us if she finds out there's more going on."  
"Hopefully there's not. Oh!" Dean slaps a celebratory hand on the table and grins. "That means we've got the day off! We could take advantage of that Netflix subscription we pay for."  
" _ Garth _ is paying – we're just leeching off of him. And I actually wanted to go for a run. Wanna come?"  
" _ Ugh."  
_"Yeah, I thought so. You two can start without me, though. I'll join you later."

Oh, the mental image that double-meaning evokes!  
But it’s more of a private joke with herself that anything – she likes Sam, obviously, if only because she's a straight woman with functioning eyes, but she doesn't have a _ crush _. He’s tall and kind, and objectively attractive but he’s not… 

Her eyes fall on his brother's long fingers tapping on the table, his strong wrist peeking out of the robe’s sleeve, and she feels her stomach tie in knots. 

He’s not Dean, alright?

She didn’t ask not to have eyes but for him, and yet here she is: all moon-eyed over his _ wrist _ , of all things.  
Someone shoot her; it’d be a mercy killing at this point. 

Dean turns to her, all bright-eyed in his good mood. "What do you say, movie marathon? We could stay in my room, get comfy on the bed."  
Well, now_, that_ makes her legs clench tight together under the table.  
She knows she’ll have to answer very quickly because in a second she’ll start overthinking and find some excuse not to join Dean. In his bedroom, on his bed. Something she has never fantasized about, _no sir_.  
"Yes? Yeah, why not!", she exclaims, just a tad too loud. Oh my God, at least try to play it cool.  
Sam smirks from behind his cup, and she wonders for a moment if this "morning run" of his isn't just a ploy to leave her alone with his brother. Then Dean winks at her, and all other thoughts fly out of the window.  
"Awesome. Come on, I'll even let you choose the movie."

❧ ☙

"I'll let you choose, he says," she huffs to herself. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror looks back at her with mild panic in her eyes. "Like that's not _ agonizing _ or anything."

God, she just wishes Dean didn't make her so damn nervous. How long has she known the Winchesters for? A year? She's even _ living _ with them, she should be past all – she clenches her fists, trying to calm herself – _ this _ . And still, Dean makes her heady and rattled just by looking at her for too long. She needs to get a grip.  
While she brushes her teeth and washes her face, she settles on Kill Bill – which a) she knows Dean hasn't seen in years and b) should hopefully keep her attention away from his closeness. On his bed. Where she will also be.

God help her.

She walks out of the bathroom up to Dean's room. He's already propping his laptop on a bunch of pillows at the foot of the bed, humming a Metallica song under his breath. His eyes shoot up to her when she arrives.  
"Hey! Did you choose the movie?", he says. He's still as carefree as she's ever seen him, but there's something in his voice that was missing during breakfast. A note of – weariness? Hope? She can't decipher it. "Don't tell Sammy I said, but I could sit through a chick–flick without bitching too much if you wanna watch one.”

_ And if that isn’t proof he has a martyr complex...  
_

"Actually, I was thinking Kill Bill?"  
He beams up. "Oh hell yeah, haven't seen that one in ages." He finds the movie and hits play, settling down against the bed frame. She notices that he got rid of the robe and is now sitting in only a t–shirt and grey sweatpants.  
_ Oh please, no _, she thinks, already feeling desperate. Fucking grey sweatpants, tight and revealing in all the right places, inviting her to look down, down...come on, just take a peek- 

She gingerly sits down at the opposite end of the bed, eyes straight ahead.  
Despite the distance, she can smell Dean’s cologne (_and_ _what the fuck did he put cologne on for?), _fresh and manly and very attractive – so much so that she forgets to focus on the film.  
She's acutely aware of his presence beside her – of the warmth radiating from him, of how little space and layers there are between their bodies.  
She also notices him glancing at her from time to time, even though her gaze stays fixed on the computer screen.  
Is she acting weird? Is that why he's looking at her? She's literally just sitting there, but maybe there's something on her face, or she's breathing too loud…that has never happened before, but who knows–

"I don't bite, you know?" 

She's almost startled by Dean's voice interrupting her manic line of thought.  
He's now openly watching her, the small smile on his lips a mix between tentative and reassuring. "You can come closer if you want to. You're almost off the bed."  
She laughs nervously – damn, way to put her on the spot. But he’s right: she’s all bunched up on the corner of the bed, shaky hands hidden under her legs. "I, uh, didn't want to make you uncomfortable, that's all."  
What the fuck does that even mean?  
One of Dean's eyebrows shot up his forehead, and his smile turns disbelieving. "Me? You're the one that looks like she has a gun pointed at her head."  
Her whole face heats up in embarrassment. He knows she's timid, and anyone who even _glances_ in her direction knows she's head over heels for him – why does he have to put attention on it?  
"I'm just out of my depth here, you know I'm shy–"  
"Shy?" he interrupts her. "We've known each other for a year! And we both know you're not like this with Sam." 

Also very true, much to her chagrin – Sam has this puppy-dog aura to himself that makes him look smaller and non-threatening, at least when he’s in the company of friends. Dean...Dean doesn’t seem to have an off-switch, he’s always very unapologetically himself. Even when he’s acting like a total dork, he fills the entire room with his presence.

The mortification of being called out like this is making her eyes water, and Dean's unfaltering eye contact is not helping. "It's different with Sam," she tries to explain. What can she say without giving too much of her feelings away?  
"Why? Have I done something bad to you?" he asks. “You’re always so – so skittish with me, it’s like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Dean has the most expressive eyes she has ever seen, and try as he might his feelings are always starkly clear on his face – like now, settling over the vibrant apple-green like an ugly shadow; disappointment and plain sadness. She really, really doesn't want to hurt him, and trips over her own thoughts in an attempt to say _ I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just in love and bad with feelings _ – but how to say it without spelling it out? 

"It's nothing you've done,” she tries, “it's just – you."

_ Oh, God _. That came out awfully wrong.

Dean scoffs, breaking the eye contact to look at everything in the room but her. "Yeah, I figured," he snickers, "Could have just said no to watching the movie, then, sweetheart. You shouldn't have to spend time with people you _ dislike _ ."  
_ Dislike? _ She almost can't believe the irony of the situation. "Dean, I don't dislike you, that's not what I meant."  
"You _ just _ said you have a problem with me _ as a person _ ! Listen,” – he passes a hand over his mouth, like he does when he needs a second to find the words – “Listen, I don’t know what you heard about me, okay? Sometimes hunters pass through here, and maybe you got wind of some rumours. I’m the first one to admit I can be a douchebag from time to time, but _ they _ don’t know me. Hell, half of them I don’t even consider friends! And I thought, you.. well, whatever. You can go back where you came from if living with me is so damn unpleasant! ”  
_ Well, ouch. That one hurt. _ She stands from the bed, raising her voice to hide how close she is to tears.  
They could have spent a nice day together, watching movies and eating popcorn from the same bowl or something, and then she had to go ahead and _ ruin everything _ . And he's being so _ stubborn, God, _ but what else is new?  
"Dean, what – rumours? You think this is about your _ reputation _ or something?”  
“I don’t know! You fucking tell me.”  
“Why do you wanna argue? You were in such a good mood two minutes ago-"  
"Yeah, _ I really was _ ." He jumps off the bed and walks around it until he's face to face with her. "Excuse me if seeing you all – all _ scared _ of me kind of killed the mood!"  
"What? I'm not scared!"  
"Then why the fuck are you on the verge of tears right now?"  
"'Cause I'm sorry," she shouts to match his tone. He's standing _ so close _ ; it's unfair how much it affects her. "I don’t find you scary, okay? I’m sorry I made you think that!"  
"Yeah, well, I’m sorry, too,” he shouts back.  
“Then why are we yelling?”  
“I have no idea!”

They both fall silent. Her mind is trying to process what the fuck just happened, why was she shouting in the first place when Dean is _ right there _ , not even five inches away – eyes bright and fiery because of the argument, the hard line of his mouth relaxing as his expression changes. He looks down at her lips.  
Her breath catches in her throat. She feels paralyzed by how intensely she wants him at that moment, stuck between throwing caution to the wind or fleeing before she makes a fool of herself. But Dean hasn’t moved away, has he? If anything he’s inching closer, and he's looking at her like, like he, too…

Dean leans in and kisses her, a soft sigh leaving his nose when their lips touch.  
_He's so warm,_ is her first thought. Warm and big and solid against her, so much more substantial than in her fantasies – where he holds her just as tightly, kisses her just as deeply.  
Her hands tremble slightly as she goes to cup his face. _God, it's happening for real_. She bites on his full bottom lip with urgency, and he tugs her closer by the hips, pushing his tongue in her mouth.  
He’s not so much aggressive as he’s ardent, burning fast and bright on her skin like he hasn’t much time left – or like he’s waited too long, and he’s hell-bent on making himself unforgettable.

She isn’t sure she would like the pace, was he anyone else. 

But oh God, he’s_ not _ anyone else, he’s Dean – and she wants, she wants, she _ wants _ him and won’t make excuses for liking this. Teeth, bruises, too-sharp nails; warm breaths mixing with hers, his fingers digging in wherever she’s softer and warmer. 

She passes a hand on the short hair at the nape of his neck, and she can feel goosebumps rise on his arms at the feeling. Dean gives her one last peck on the lips before hiding his face in the crook of her neck – he releases a shuddering sigh that makes her shiver, and nips at the skin behind her ear.  
His big hands settle on her legs, squeezing and palming the back of her thighs until she's raised to her tiptoes. "Hold on, baby," he says and picks her up from the ground.  
Wrapped around his waist, she can feel his erection pressing on her core – and she's never felt emptier and needier than right there with Dean, hard and panting, ready to fuck her against a wall.  
"Oh God," she moans, and desperately paws at Dean's shirt to get some skin–on–skin contact.  
He raises his face to watch her and chuckles at her efforts, grinding with more and more insistence against her.  
"I know, I know," he hums, "I gotcha." He smiles that boyish adorable grin he sometimes does, and she's overwhelmed by both the rush of affection for him and the desire pooling low in her belly. 

She's about to say something undoubtedly stupid that would ruin everything – she has the three words already formed on her lips, but they turn into a gasp when Dean twists around and lets her fall on the mattress. The cold sheets underneath her give some clarity back.  
Not that she keeps it for long, with Dean crawling between her open thighs, hair all fucked up by her hands.  
He gives her a long caress from her knees up to her waist and smiles again. "Always wanted you in my bed."_Is this actually happening?_, she thinks, incredulous. "Wh–Yeah?"  
"Why do you you think I proposed we watch something here?" He winks at her. "Sam wasn't home...I dunno, I felt lucky today."  
"...and then we ended up yelling at each other a bunch", she adds.  
Dean huffs a laugh and leans down to kiss her, deep and long enough she forgets what they were even talking about. "Doesn't that just count as foreplay?"  
"I don't think so, no."  
Dean beams at her, eyes glinting with something dangerous. "No? How about this, then?", he says, and licks a hot strip on her neck before sucking a mark there. The sharp feeling of his teeth on her sensitive skin makes her back arch closer to his chest. "Or this?" One of his hands sneaks under her shirt, slow and teasing.  
Dean's fingers splay wide on her stomach on their way up, and she's never hated a piece of clothing more than her bra when it stops the contact. She wants everything _off_, wants to feel him really touch her.  
"Oh, fuck," she gasps. "Dean– Dean, take this off." He groans against her collarbone, voice low and rumbly, before leaning back on his knees. "Mmh, yeah.Yes, ma'am. Can you roll over?" The thought of Dean pressed long and wide along her back makes her toes curl, and she gladly turns around. 

She realizes Uma Thurman is still swinging her katana on the computer screen, so she takes a second to close the laptop. There's the swishing of fabric behind her, probably Dean shimming out of his sweatpants and shirt while she can't see him. She goes to undress as well, but two warm hands on her hips stop her. "No, wait, I wanna do it," Dean says. “‘Kay?”  
Oh God, this man is gonna be the _death_ of her. "Yes, please."  
Dean scoots closer, his knees on either side of hers, erection pressed on the small of her back. He briefly hugs her to his chest while he leaves a kiss on her hair, squeezing a bit before he lets her go. She swallows back a whimper at the feeling – not because it brings any real pleasure, but because of Dean's unguarded desire behind the gesture. He’s slowed down the pace, maybe for her benefit, maybe for his own.

God, she's there, with Dean. Unbelievable. She wants him so much she could cry. 

Nuzzling her neck, he helps her take off her shirt, and then – faster, cause he's seductive, yes, but also earnest and enthusiastic – he unclasps her bra, and it falls on the bed. She gets why he asked her to turn around, conscious that her shyness would, at least at first, follow her even in bed: like this, she can't see him watching, and her instinct to hide from him is stifled.  
Not that she had nothing to worry about: Dean just sighs softly and cups her breasts in his hands, a smile splitting his face at how soft and hot her skin is.  
Her leggings go next, tugged down roughly by herself 'cause suddenly she really, _ really _ needs to be naked so he can touch her everywhere.  
She leans forward on the bed, face pressing on a pillow as she shimmies out of her pants.  
Dean huffs a laugh behind her. "These are very sexy," he comments, hooking his fingers on the edge of her underwear. Which is ridiculous, cause she has on the most boring pair of black undies ever produced.  
Goes to show with how little Dean is pleased.  
Instead of taking the last piece of offending clothing off, he slides two fingers up and down her folds, pushing in a little through the fabric.  
"So wet already," he says, “and I haven't even touched you yet." His voice has gone low and rumbly and that, coupled with his fingers, makes her that much wetter.  
“‘Cause I want you,” she mumbles in the pillow, stating the obvious. She rocks backs on his hand, inviting. “You know, I-”  
“Yeah, baby?”  
_ Oh God, he called me baby, _ she thinks a bit hysterically. She bites back the embarrassment and tries to find somewhere the courage to finish the sentence. “You know, I - I think of you when I touch myself.”  
There it is, out in the open. Just how ridiculously attracted to him she is. 

His movements stutter; when she angles her head so that she can see his face, she finds him already watching her with such intense, naked longing in his eyes, she has to feel proud. It’s getting to her head, feeling _ wanted _ like this.

“What?” he asks, finally sliding off her underwear. He’s already naked, and as soon as the panties hit the mattress she pushes back until she’s flush with him – his erection is pressed in the cleft of her ass, getting smeared with her wetness when she starts undulating her hips.  
“What- fuck,” Dean tries again, distracted by what she’s doing. “Mmh, what do you think about?”  
God, she’s burning up, and she’s so damn _ empty _ without him inside of her. “I don’t know, uh - Your fingers?” Dean circles an arm around her and sneaks his hand down her belly until he can touch her clit, middle and forefinger forming slow circles in time with her hips.  
“Yes, _ yes like that, _oh God,” she gasps. She decides, there and then, to tell him a secret. 

“One time, one time we were at that diner together, Sam and Cas were there as well...And you had that red shirt on, and you must have spent some time on your hair, ‘cause it was – I don’t know, Dean, you were just so beautiful. I was sitting right in front of you. You were flirting with the waitress, and I thought, I thought ‘God, what if I took my shoe off, and slid my foot all the way up his leg and then, when he looks at me, confused, pretend I’m not doing anything?’ And I kept thinking about it, ‘cause you weren’t looking at me anyway.  
What if I made you hard, there in public, but you had to keep your face straight and not react? And then, what if you grasped my ankle under the table like a warning to stop, but you still pushed back to have more friction, blushing that pretty red when Sam asked you if were okay? And you know what, Dean?” She pauses a second, lost in the fantasy and the feeling of his hands on her. “I would have stopped without a word. I would have left you there, wouldn’t have even acknowledged what I was doing by glancing at you – I would have stood up, with you still hard in your jeans in that cute, family-friendly diner, and I would have said “Sorry, gotta powder my nose” or something just as stupid, to look even more annoyingly innocent – and then I would have gone to the bathroom. And waited for you to follow me, so you could fuck me in one of the stalls, my hand on your mouth to keep you quiet, hoping against hope that no one would come in, or hear us, or interrupt us before you could cum so deep inside me I would have felt you for _ days _-”

Dean moves away from her, one hand to keep her still. “Okay, okay, that’s- that's enough for now."

His free hand is at the base of his dick, squeezing a bit as he calms down. He’s breathing fast, lips bitten red and freckles standing out against the flush on his face. He is, quite possibly, the hottest thing she has ever seen. And _she _did that.  
“You little- I think I remember that day, fuck. _That_’s what you were thinking? _Jesus_.”  
He briefly rummages in the bedside drawer and comes back to the bed with a condom.  
“Is like this okay?” he asks, and helps her up from where she was sprawled on the bed.  
She considers whether or not her legs will hold her up in this position, and figures that after that spiel she deserves to be a bit of a pillow princess – Dean will hold her up if he needs to. With those strong, muscular arms of his. Mmh, God bless his biceps...  
So she hums “yes,” and hooks her feet around his calves to feel him closer. 

She looks back at him as he goes in, and more than the feeling of Dean sliding into her, she'll never forget how his eyes flutter close in a pained frown, like it feels so good it hurts; like he’s somehow surprised by the pleasure.  
And then he moves, and her eyes just close on their own at the feeling. Everything’s just burning hot – Dean inside her, his hands touching everywhere on her body, his forehead pressed between her shoulders when he leans down.  
“‘Missed this,” he mumbles on her skin. “I always forget how good it is.” 

Which would be, was this a different setting, an unwelcome reminder of how many women have been under him before her. Right now, with him groaning and moaning in her ear? She couldn’t care less.

The pace picks up - and, really, Dean’s a very _ proportionate _ man, and, in that position, he goes too deep for comfort. At a particularly hard thrust, she whimpers in pain.  
“You okay?” he asks, worried fingers moving the hair out of her face.  
“Yeah, ‘s okay. Just-”  
“I hurt you,” he interjects, and helps her up. “Get closer to the headboard? Alright, let’s try it like this.”  
On her knees, with her arms balancing her weight on the wall, the angle changes drastically. Dean slides back into her, this time pressed on her in a long line from shoulders to knees, and hooks his chin on her shoulder. “Better?”  
“Way better,” she says, and smiles at his happy sigh. 

There’s not much she could tell you about the rest, not without interrupting herself every two seconds by grinning and blushing.  
It just feels good. It feels _amazing_.  
Dean’s experience is evident in his every move, and he doesn’t let her forget for a second exactly who’s she with – in that too-hot bedroom with weapons decorating the wall, giving a memory foam mattress a run for its money.  
She says his name probably too many times, and some ridiculous praise comes out of her mouth once in a while, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind; he bites her neck too hard, at one point, and it hurts but she loves it, the proof that he has lost himself completely in her body.  
And Dean builds her up and up, with his voice and his fingers and his cock, until she shudders and cums around him.

She briefly loses sense of time, feeling only Dean thrusting into her faster and deeper and with a faltering rhythm – when she comes back to herself, he’s slipping out of her with a groaned “_Jesus Christ._”  
She lies down on her back, panting as she watches him throw away the condom in a small bin beside the bed.  
All those good chemicals that come with an orgasm are making her feel more naked than a simple lack of clothes – Dean turns back to her, and she has the impression that he can see right through her skin and bones; that all the feelings that surely will scare him off are sprawled out on the bed like heavy, uncomfortable blanket.  
She feels both amazing and scrubbed raw at the same time. She really needs Dean to take her in his arm before she starts crying, which is becoming more and more probable by the second. 

Instead, his attention falls on his phone, bleeping away on the bedside table. “_ Twelve _ messages?”, he says when he picks it up. They’re from Sam, which becomes obvious when he reads them instead of chucking the phone at the end of the bed; she watches him frown as he scrolls down. “Ugh, fuck. It’s Sam; Jody apparently needs back up after all. _ Five werewolves? _Well, shit.”

She doesn’t say anything, and busies herself by sliding under the blanket. 

She doesn’t like to think of Jody in danger, but she likes even less where this is going. Dean is putting his boxers back on, and clean clothes from his drawer. Oh, wow, look at all that flannel. Does he have an endless supply or something?

“I gotta go,” he explains. _ No shit, Sherlock. _ “Hey, it was _ awesome,” _ he tells her as he puts a belt on, nonchalant as if he was talking about a very good burger. “Just- awesome. Shit, I’m so late already, Sam’s gonna bitch all the way to Sioux Falls. See you in a few days?”  
She nods, a bit jaded by the sudden change in scenario – from one with Dean naked in bed with her to one where he’s leaving as if nothing happened – and he smiles and winks at her. 

And then he’s gone. 

Maybe she spends the next hour on the verge of tears, hugging his pillow and watching the rest of Kill Bill as a distraction, but that’s not really any of your business.

She gets up, eventually, and puts her clothes back on even if the bunker is empty. She does what feels like a walk of shame back to her room and straight to her shower. She washes off, with her favourite lavender-scented soap, all the signs of the past few hours off of her skin.  
Like it was a random guy. Like it was just a one-off. 

_ Thank you very much, ma’am, it has been fun while it lasted. _

_ “I gotta go.” _

Well, alright. Goodbye stranger, then. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean thinks it over and reaches all the wrong conclusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with chapter two - and if you like embarrassed Dean, oh my do I have a treat for you! Enjoy :)

It's been two days, and she still can't stop feeling...used.

She loathes using that term for something like this. Having incredible sex with the man that she loves shouldn't, in any circumstance, make her feel so empty and cold – and yet, here she is.  
Rationally, she knew from the start that Dean isn't in love with her; it's not like she was living in a fairytale land where they would fall in bed together and never leave each other.  
It doesn't sound much like the Dean she knows, anyway.

She angrily pours some sugar into her teacup, stirring the honey–brown liquid for far too long, trying to distract herself from her line of thought. She fails miserably.  
It's just – the sex was _not_ the problem, she wants to make that clear: it was good, it was with Dean, it probably ruined her for any other man.  
But he left. He left her_immediately_, when her emotions were still so raw and close to the surface she just wanted to curl under his weight to hide.  
She drinks down a scalding sip of tea, reminding herself not to be so stupid. Jody needed help, of course he had to go!  
So... where's the problem, then? What has left her shaky and feeling ill at ease in her own skin?  
"He seemed happy", she answers herself.  
Dean put his clothes back on, winked at her and walked out of the room, all with a smile on his face. He didn’t even kiss her goodbye, which she’s pretty sure is common courtesy even between strangers who hooked up.  
How? How could Dean have had such a drastically different experience that he was happy he could immediately hop off the bed and go, no problem? 

Hell, she's heard from other women how damn sweet he is in bed!  
A barista from a pub close to the bunker saw her looking with moon eyes at Dean and encouraged her to shoot her shot with him 'cause, and she quotes, "I know he looks all mean and rough, but he'll treat you like you're the only woman he has ever wanted.” Another girl, a hunter she spent some time with researching for a case, confessed that the sex was awesome – but the way he couldn't stop touching her everywhere, for the entire night, was even better. 

So, yeah, had Dean been pissed off that he needed to leave immediately, she would have been  _ fine _ . Some longing in his eyes, a "fucking werewolves" muttered under his breath... anything, really, and right now she wouldn't feel like a toy he played with and then threw in the trash.   
And that thing he said, about how he “missed the feeling”, and how he “always forgets how good it is”: very nice words to hear in the heat of the moment, and she admits she found them very fluttering when he murmured them with his lips pressed on her skin.   
But now, in the cold of the bunker’s kitchen, they are just points added to the ‘He Wanted To Get Laid And You Were Conveniently There’ list. 

Well, there's at least  _ one _ silver lining.    
She passes a hand to her neck and feels the familiar ache of pressing on a bruise – Dean left some marks. Hickeys, from under her jaw down to her breasts, an angry purple that is slowly fading away. Sometimes she runs to the bathroom just to see herself in the mirror – and some may call them ugly and trashy, some would even be pissed he left them there in the first place...but she honestly doesn't give a fuck. They're a physical reminder of what happened, a proof that Dean wanted her and was as carried away as she felt.    
She loves them. They're helping her feel a bit less lonely. 

Which is, in her opinion, why what's about to happen happens. Just to add insult to injury.

Hours after she's done with her tea, she hears the main door to the bunker open and someone who's by far too silent to be the Winchesters come down the stairs.  
Sure enough, it's Castiel.   
(And she's still struggling with the whole "angels are real" concept, by the way, but that's neither here nor there.)

"Castiel? Hi, Sam and Dean are not here", she says when he arrives to the war room. His whole existence is so baffling to her, her brain kind of forgets that she's usually awkward as fuck around men. She can _almost_ have a normal conversation with the guy.  
"I know", he replies, voice gruff but kind. "I'm here to retrieve some ingredients for a spell, Dean informed me you would be home. He said to, uh, 'check how you're doin’."  
She smiles at how squinty Cas gets as he repeats Dean's words. "I'm doing great, thank you", she says._You know, like a liar,_ pops up in her brain in John Mulaney's voice. "You okay?"  
"Yes, I'm well, thank you – but you have some bruises on your neck, do you want me to heal them?"  
_Uh oh. "_Mh? No, no, I mean–" Can't he recognize they're hickeys? "They're nothing, you don't need to waste, uh, energy or whatever.”  
"It's only going to take a second, it'll be painless", Castiel explains, and before she can find some valid excuse he's already put two fingers on her forehead. A pleasant tingling down her spine later, aches she didn't even know she had are gone. She’s sure she doesn't even have a chipped nail anymore, let alone hickeys on her neck – which shouldn't be so damn sad to think about, and yet.

"There, all done", Castiel says with a small smile tugging at his lips.  
And because she like him, and it was objectively a very nice thing of him to do, she smiles back warmly. "Thank you, Cas. I feel better." _ She said, you know, like a li _ –yes, okay, thank you brain, we get it.  
"You're welcome", and he's off to take the bone of a virgin nun or something from the basement. Man, spells are _ weird. _

And she misses Dean.  
What else is new?

❧ ☙ 

"Sammy, get on with it–"

Sam slaps him on the arm, still fumbling with the bunker's key. "Dude, we slept like four hours, give me a break – ok, there you go, it's open."  
Dean wrestles his way through the door first, more to annoy his brother than anything. He's actually feeling pretty good all things considered: the case went well and nobody got hurt, which is all he asks for. He's just excited to be back home, is all. 

Okay, yeah, and he's excited to see her again. 

Both Jody and Sam teased him for three days straight because his eyes kept glazing over every time her name came up in conversation. Dean had made the mistake of admitting to Sam how exactly the "movie marathon" was going when he picked him up to go to Jody – queue the continuous Dean–has–a–crush jokes. Thank fuck Claire wasn't on the hunt with them, or he wouldn't have survived her added teenage snark.  


He realizes that Sam was just happy that he stopped moping after her, but still – leave the guy some dignity. 

"Sam, it's your turn to unpack this stuff" – he pats the bag he just put on the war room table – "_and_ clean the weapons."  
His brother stifles a yawn just to shoot a heartfelt "..._dude_" in his direction. "It's so _your_ turn, Dean".  
"Yes, but I'm still pissed you cockblocked me the other day."  
"You said you guys were already done!"  
Dean scoffs. "What, you think I would have stopped at one round?"  
"Okay, no," Sam says, noise scrunched up while he shrugs off his jacket. "TMI, Dean, come on."

He'd deserved a too–graphic retelling, to be honest, but she's also Sam's friend and he doesn't want to embarrass her just to get back to his brother. Also, it was, you know...kind of special for him, too, and he's not one to kiss and tell.  


Well. Not this time, at least. 

Dean has had a soft spot for that girl for a while. She's unlike any other woman he got to know during the years – the hunter life makes for a completely different personality, more brass and outgoing; and apart from various female hunters he's met in his life, the other women have been mostly one night stands. It's not like he _knew_ them, not for real.   
Meanwhile, she's more on the shy side (which by the way he finds adorable, especially when she’s doing research for a hunt and stays huddled up with her books for hours. Very sexy librarian of her); a calming presence, level–headed and serene when a lot of things in his life keep falling apart.  
She reminds him of Charlie, sometimes, especially when she shows what she's truly passionate about and gets a bit nerdy. He thought the similarities would make for a painful reminder that Charlie is gone, but with time it just made him more fond of her. 

He wishes, though, that he didn't need Sam as a constant buffer between the two of them when they hang out. Dean has learned more about her by listening in to her conversation with his brother than any time it was only the two of them.  
He'll admit that was starting to be bitter about it, and that's why he snapped at her the other day – but thankfully things worked out great.  
Really great. Like, _ super _ great. He’s still riding that high.    
Admittedly, the fact that they got interrupted before a much-deserved cuddle session (and he’ll shoot you if you go around telling people he’s a cuddler) sucked, but he left happy knowing that they could make up for lost time when he came back.

God, she's smoking hot. The moment when he slid off her panties down the curve of her ass played in his mind in repeat often during the hunt, keeping him distracted during the boring witnesses’ interviews.    
Jesus Christ, he swears the way she arched her back when she was finally naked was the hottest part…Oh, perfect, now he's getting hard in his jeans just thinking about it–

" _ Dean _ ." Sam throws to his face one of his dirty flannel shirts taken from their bag. "You're  _ done _ for, man. Gross. Go say hi to her!"  


Yeah, he's gonna do just that. She's probably in the library, that's her favorite spot.

And while he appreciates Sam's support, he flips him off anyway while he leaves the room. 

❧ ☙ 

Dean enters the library and immediately spots her on an overstuffed armchair, wearing headphones and scrolling on her phone. The bobbing of her head in time with the music explains why she hadn't heard them arrive. 

He takes a moment to observe her from afar, his eyes falling on the curves of her bare legs. It runs hotter in this area of the bunker, and she's down to shorts and a tank top.   
Fuck, he's _ missed _ her.   


Dean decides to sneak up on her from behind, 'cause he's a bit of an asshole and he wants to scare her, and when he's close enough he sneaks an arm around her shoulders. She immediately jumps up with a yelp, and he takes one of her headphones out before planting a wet kiss on her neck.  
"Dean, holy_shit_", she pants when she recognizes him, "what the hell?"  
He laughs while he goes to stand in front of the armchair. "We just got back. Sorry, it was the perfect opportunity to do that."  
"Sam would_never_."  
It's obviously supposed to be a joke, but there's an edge to her voice that makes him frown.  
"Yeah, well, Sam's boring like that. Is – is everything okay?"  
She gives him a tight-lipped smile, so very different from the warm, inviting one she usually reserves for him.  


Dean's confused, to stay the least. He thought she let go of the awkwardness around him somewhere between kissing and telling him a detailed fantasy of how she wanted to fuck him in a diner’s bathroom. I mean, there's no coming back from that...right? 

_ Maybe she doesn't know where we stand now _ , Dean thinks.  _ It's not like we had time to talk about it _ .   
And actions speak louder than words, in his opinion, so he ducks down to kiss her.  
She stays frozen for a second, the leather of the chair creaking under her grip. Dean cups her jaw to angle her face better, and she kind of...melts into him, warm lips moving on his.  
Dean's heartbeat quickens the more she responds to him – he can feel it shaking his chest under the layers of cotton and flannel.   
He sinks to his knees in front of her, tugging on her legs until she's sitting on the edge of the chair, caging him between her knees. He breaks off the kiss to attach his lips to her neck – and, wait, didn't he leave some marks there? He remembers getting, uh, a bit carried away, last time. She didn't seem to mind, though... Maybe they already healed. Whatever, he has other things to focus on.

"Dean", she says, and sinks her hands in hair. He sighs at the feeling of her fingertips on his scalp, and he loses focus of what he's doing. "Dean, wait a second–"  
Her grip turns less kind, and he gets the hint. He sits back on his haunches but leaves his hands on her thighs. "Yeah?"  
"I– Dean, I can't do this again."  
He blinks, surprised at the sudden shift in mood. She looks so damn uncomfortable he has the urge to hug her, but he sets his hands on his lap instead.  
Did he do something wrong? He knew he would fuck things up eventually, but not _so_ soon.   
"We don't have to do anything now, sweetheart,” he reassures her. Maybe he came off too strong. “You’re not feeling okay?”  
"That's not really the problem. Last time" – she avoids his gaze, looking down at her hands – "last time wasn't good for me."

It's like she dumped freezing water on his head. He thought – he thought the sex had been _awesome_, and now she tells him she didn't enjoy it?  
_But she came,_ he thinks, immediately followed by _maybe she faked it_ – which, ugh. Oh God. He'll drive straight into the ocean.   
"I thought–" he starts, face burning up in mortification. He even told Sam they were amazing together, and that he couldn't wait to do more – earning a "spare me the details" from his brother. "Well, nevermind. I'll leave you to your music", he grumbles.

He's not making this any better, is he? It's just – what the fuck is he supposed to say? Something  _ mature _ , probably. Not his forte. 

She opens her mouth, but Dean stands up before she can say anything – he doesn't want to hear her soften the blow with some excuse. "I'll see you at dinner", he quickly adds while he dusts off his pants.  
And then, bruised ego in tow, he leaves the room.

As he hurries down the hall, he can't help thinking back to what he did differently, with her, that didn't work like it always has on other women.

Of course, he knows that everyone is different, that there isn't a universal how-to guide for pleasing a woman in bed… but  _ still _ , he did pick up a thing or two during the years. Dean would like to think that he got way better than his first time stumbling in bed with a girl, back when he was seventeen, arrogant but unbearably self–conscious under all the bravado.

He did the things that he usually does, warming her up before the main event, going at her pace 'cause he knows that it takes girls longer to really get into it.   
And he likes drawing things out – the undressing, the exploring of each other’s body; letting the desire turn desperate and all-encompassing.  
So? What was the problem?

He thinks about it some more, losing himself in the memories from time to time, but then his steps falter as he remembers something.  
Which is that he did, in fact, skip one of his favorite steps: he didn't eat her out.  
He _ forgot _ , alright? He was worked up because of all the arguing and the kissing and the weeks of tension between them before that...and she was  _ so _ wet and responsive, he let it get to his head, and then...then…

Arrived to his room, Dean glares at the door like it stole his money and scratched his car. When he yanks it opens it creaks, offended at the rough treatment. As he face-plants into his bed, he wishes  _ he _ could make a similar sound that to properly express what he’s feeling at the moment.  
He's so fucking embarrassed that he gave this girl – that he's genuinely interested in, that has always been kind to him, that he _ lives with _ and has to see  _ every day _ – less attention than he would a one-night stand. 

But the problem, he reasons, can't possibly be only his lack of  _ cunning linguistics _ – as his smartass, clever-world-play lover of a brother once called it – even though he's sure it helped lessen the overall experience for her. 

Well, there was also a moment where he accidentally hurt her – but it was just the position, he probably went too deep, and he knows damn well that the first time with someone you're bound to fumble, to have some awkward moments. That's why he was excited to be with her again: he doesn't have the opportunity to try a second time very often. They could get better, fall in tune with each other until it all becomes natural and effortless and _ good _ .

Yes, the thrill of the first time, of something  _ new,  _ is amazing – but the times that he got to feel the familiarity seep in, to see that sense of performing instead of just enjoying disappear…?   
God, he wants that again. He hoped–  
Well, nevermind what he hoped.  
If she doesn't want him anymore, good riddance. The only thing he prays for is that things won't be _ oh so terribly _ tense between them. If nothing else, because Sam would get caught in the middle. 

Then he remembers he left her with a “see you at dinner” – which means he only has a few hours to decide if he wants to face this whole thing like a man, or just drive into the ocean like he was thinking about earlier. 

He loves Baby too much to let her rot in the Atlantic, and that’s all that’s stopping him.

He groans in his pillow, defeated – give him a nest of vampires, and he'll know how to deal with it. This whole mess? Not so much.

Taking a deep breath, he realizes the fabric still faintly smells of her – that flowery shampoo that she uses; the natural scent of her skin. Predictably, snapshots of how she looked tangled in his sheets flash behind his closed eyes, details soft and hazy in his memory. Despite everything, it makes him smile and snuggle deeper into the pillow.

  
"Oh my God. I have  _ feelings _ for her", Dean mumbles with his face still squished in the fabric. "Fuck my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut this chapter! I know, I'm sorry, I'll do better in the next chapter. Please let me know what you think, even a two-word comment makes my day <3 I'll be back soon with chapter three!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is pining; she's not doing any better...At least Sam has more than two functioning brain cells. He's going to force them to make up, mark his words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyooo! Welcome to the last chapter - and this time, I come bearing gifts. It's smut, that's the gift (I have no money this is all I can offer)
> 
> Anyway, it's the last chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it <3

“You’re a  _ man _ , Dean Winchester. You kill things for a living, and you look good while doing so. This? This is  _ nothing,  _ you hear me? You’ll go in there and face the consequences of your actions with  _ dignity _ and a give ‘em hell attitude. Fearless, even in the face of death.”

His reflection looks back at him from the bathroom mirror, unimpressed.

Okay, maybe that was a tad too dramatic - it’s not like he’s going to battle or something. It’s just dinner with his brother and the girl he has feelings for and didn’t satisfy in bed. 

“I wish I was going to battle,” Dean mutters to himself, passing a hand over his eye. “At least I wouldn’t have to talk.”

He washes his face with cold water, hoping it will clear his head, and puts back on his shirt. As he walks out of the bedroom he almost crashes into Castiel, who was apparently just standing in front of his closed door like a silent, obsessive guard dog.   
“Cas!  _ What the hell _ ?”    
“Hi, Dean.” He looks indifferent to both Dean’s surprise and the three inches of distance between their noses. Dean takes a step back, wondering if he should complain about personal space – you know, for old time’s sake.    
“What are you doing?” he asks instead.   
“I came to bring back some ingredients I needed for a spell two days ago. I wanted to say hi before I left, but then I heard you talk to yourself - I was waiting for you to be done.”   
Dean makes an indignant noise at the back of his throat. “I wasn’t talking to myself.”   
“You absolutely were.”   
“Nevermind that!” he exclaims.  _ What is it today, Embarrass Dean Winchester Day?  _ “While you’re here, why don’t you stay for dinner?”   
Cas sighs and hangs his head back, peering at the ceiling. “I  _ can’t _ , I have to go back to Heaven. I’ll come back here as soon as I can - you still have to show me the Lord of the Rings movies. You talked about it for half an hour last time Sam mentioned it. Will your new roommate join us?”

At her mention, something clicks in Dean’s brain. “Yeah, for sure...Listen, Cas, you saw her the other day, right? Did she ask you anything?”   
Castiel frowns, looking back at him. “Not really, no. But I did heal her, she had bruises on her neck. It occurred to me later that they were probably what you would call ‘ecchymoses’-”   
“No, Cas, I really wouldn’t. They’re called _ hickeys _ , you freak-”   
“ _ Anyway _ – she thanked me, and that was all.”

So she was glad she could get rid of the only physical reminder that they fucked. Cool, amazing, that improves his mood exponentially. The good news is that his ego was already bruised enough that this new piece of info barely makes a difference; the bad news is that he wants to move to Mexico and never show his face here again. 

“Good to know,” he says for lack of a better response. “Uh – see you soon, then. Take care, alright?”   
“I will.” Cas gives him a barely-there smile, stoic as ever, and walks down the corridor in a flurry of tan trenchcoat and tousled black hair.

❧ ☙

Sam glances at his watch, tired eyes taking a second to focus on the numbers. 

Castiel passed by his room to say he was leaving few minutes ago, and after that he hasn’t been able to pay attention to what he was reading. He shuts his laptop, secretly glad he hasn’t found a new hunt, and decides to go eat something. 

He doesn’t bother looking for Dean or the woman he has been sighing about the past three days – no, scratch that, the past few _ months _ . Sam can’t believe it took his brother almost a year to go to bed with her when they have been obviously,  _ painfully _ attracted to each other from day one. There’s hopefully going to be less tension between them from now on – if he ever sees them again, that is. He’ll be surprised if they ever leave the bedroom. 

That’s why he’s positively dumbfounded when he finds her in the kitchen, putting together a bunch of sandwiches with whatever’s left in their fridge.    
“Hey! I - I thought you were with Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t come to say hi before.”   
“Hey, Sam.” She gives him a tight-lipped smile that quickly fades away. “I saw Dean but, uh – he left. I think he’s in his room? I don’t know.”

Sam frowns – what exactly happened to make her look so dejected? Look at how she’s spreading the mayo on that bread! The knife passes over and over the same spot, slow and heavy like it weighs too much for her to hold up.    
It’s like watching a puppy crawl around on a broken paw. It’s depressing. 

He’s sure her mood is somehow Dean’s fault, no doubt about it. His brother does have an outstanding talent for breaking hearts, a quality that has brought many women to soundly slap him in the face throughout the years. 

He's about to ask her what's going on, when Dean enters the kitchen.

He looks at her.    
She looks at him, mayo-covered knife still clutched in her hand.    
Sam watches them both get burned by the eye contact in those few seconds before she turns back to the sandwiches – and just like that, the spell is broken. But not the aura of awkwardness that fell on the room. 

He's too tired for this; he knew not taking a nap when he could was a mistake. He's thinking of just grabbing a bite and go hide in his room, when he catches Dean's  _ "don't you dare leave”  _ glare from beside him.

Okay then, let's do this.

Sam tries to keep a conversation going while they set the table, telling her about the hunt and how Jody is coping with two teenagers living in her house. Meanwhile, Dean just nods or offers monosyllabic answers while refusing to look at the girl he couldn't wait to see just few hours ago. 

"I hope you don't mind getting only sandwiches tonight," she says after a while. "There wasn't much left and I have been living off of pasta the past three days. Besides, I know Jody feeds you well." 

"Of course we don't, these are delicious," answers Sam. "And you're right, Jody's always good to us.  _ Right _ , Dean?" He kicks his shin under the table for good measure. 

Dean swallows back a grunt of pain. "What?  _ Yes _ , yeah, Jody's very satisfying -  _ I mean _ , her  _ cooking _ . Her cooking is – satisfying. Good. Whatever." Flustered, he stuffs what's left of his third sandwich in his mouth. The bite is too big. Sam realizes just then why Crowley calls him Squirrel. 

_ What the fuck was that? _ , he thinks. Apart from awkward as all hell, obviously. 

She blinks twice, seemingly as confused as Sam feels. "Good for you guys," she says. "I - uh, I think I'm gonna go to bed early, I didn't sleep very well last night. I'll see you tomorrow." 

She doesn't so much run as power walks out of the room – which is still  _ way _ too fast with an excuse like "I'm tired" to back up her escape. Not that Sam's complaining, 'cause it does give him the opportunity to beat his brother’s ass if he did something stupid.   
" _ Dude _ ," he exclaims as soon as she's out of earshot, "what the fuck did you do?"

He glares at him, and if looks could kill...Sam would barely feel a tingle, probably, considering that Dean's blushing to the tips of his ears. Sam hasn't seen him so embarrassed since tenth grade, when he asked Clarissa Foxglove out and she laughed in his face in front of everyone. 

"Why do you think I did something?"   
" _ Dean _ ."   
"Alright!” he relents. “Jesus. Earlier, when I found her in the library, I went to kiss her and she seemed into it, right? But then- she...Ugh, God, she told me to stop because ‘last time wasn't good for her’.” He goes through roughly ten different expressions as he talks, ranging from smugness to utter mortification. 

Sam frowns, leaning back on his chair. "...What? That's it?"

"What do you mean  _ that's it _ !?” scoffs Dean, hands flying up in disbelief, “This is not a  _ that's it _ situation. Did you hear what I _ just _ said?"

"That she...didn't like the sex?"

Reluctant grunt of affirmation from Dean.

This is not where he thought the conversation would go. He would have bet on Dean saying something insensitive that pissed her off, which is his specialty, and maybe he could have helped with that. But a sex therapy session? Does he really want to get into this?   
He tries anyway.    
"Well, what did you - I mean, didn't she…?"   
"I thought she did, Sam! Do you think I just stop and roll over when I'm done? Come on, man."   
Sam thinks it over for a second – there is an obvious answer that comes to mind. "Maybe you thought she did because-"   
"Don't you dare say it,” barks Dean.    
_ Wow, touchy subject. _ "Alright, I won't. What do you think you did wrong, then?"   
He hesitates, eyes focused on the label he’s peeling off one beer bottle. "I dunno. I guess...I didn't go down on her."

“Dean”, says Sam, who’s starting to suspect that this whole thing is nothing more than a misunderstanding, "that  _ cannot _ be the whole problem. Are you sure she didn't mean something different?"   
"What the fuck else could she mean by "it wasn't good for me"?"   
"How about you  _ ask _ her?"

Dean lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Ah! That's insane. Worst idea ever. Stop talking."

“First of all, fuck you,” says Sam. “And second, if you won't ask then  _ I  _ will.” He gets up from his chair before Dean can rebut and walks out of the kitchen.   
"Sam?” he whisper-yells from behind him. “ _ Sam _ . Come back here. Sammy!"

He’s prepared to be tackled right there in the hallway, but fortunately Dean gives up and lets him walk freely to her room.    
He’s curious to hear her side of the story – the possibility that she suddenly lost interest in his brother because of something that happened during sex are slim to none. And Sam might have teased his brother endlessly for his crush, but he does want him to have all the happiness he can find in a life like their own. 

This needs to be solved. 

❧ ☙ 

Sam pops his head in her room, knocking on the half-opened door to get her attention. "Hey, can I talk to you a second?"

She’s laying on the bed, an open book in her hand that she quickly puts down when she notices him. Her eyes are dry, but still red like she’s been forcing back tears for a while. "Sure," she says, and pats the mattress in the universal _ sit with me _ gesture. Sam takes the offer.    
"We can agree that dinner was fucking weird, right?” he starts. “So I talked to Dean and he told me what happened earlier today.”   
She sighs, hiding her face in her hands. "I didn't mean to make things weird, I'm sorry,” she mumbles. Then her eyes glance up at him, brows furrowed as she squints. “Is there something between him and Jody?"

The unexpected question leaves him speechless for a second. “What? No!”    
“Hey, he’s the one who said that she’s “ _ satisfying _ ” – what the hell was that about then?”   
Sam rolls his eyes, thinking back to Dean’s awkward wording. “There’s nothing between them.”   
“Oh, cool. I’ve always thought you were the one who has a thing for her.”   
"We are so not gonna talk about that,” he interjects quickly. But something in his expression must have given him away, because she starts making kissy noises and wiggles her eyebrows at him. “ _ Anyway _ ,” he says, desperate to bring her back on topic, “I think Dean said that ‘cause he’s hung up about something.  _ And _ I think you two had very different conversation, earlier."

She immediately sobers up. "What do you mean?” she asks in a soft voice. “I'm sure he's told you we, uh, hooked up, right…? Right. Well, I told him I don't think I can do it again if he wants a friends with benefits kinda thing. You know that I like Dean, a lot - and last time he just left like it was nothing for him.” She looks up at him, offering him a small smile. “I know you had to help Jody, but still. It made me feel like shit. And he just up and left earlier, too, when I...you could say "rejected" him. It really wasn’t a rejection, I wanted to clear things up. He didn’t give me time to explain."

Hearing her side of the story cements the idea in Sam that these two are idiots – but two idiots he cares about, and would love to see find happiness in each other. He won’t let his brother sabotage this relationship before it even starts, and all because of a stupid misunderstanding. 

He decides to be painfully blunt. "See? Two very different conversations. He thinks you didn't like the sex."   
" _ What _ ? Is he crazy?"   
Sam shrugs. "I figured that was another problem, 'cause it couldn't be - uh, mh, nevermind."    
"No, no, no,” she says, scooting closer to him on the bed. An accusatory finger digs in his chest. “Don’t you dare, you gotta tell me."

Oh no, why did he have to mention that? Isn’t it awkward enough that he has to discuss his brother’s sex life with him, now he has to add a dear, very female friend to the list?   
"Dean thinks that you didn't like it because he didn't- you know.” He makes so vague gesture with his hands, hoping she’ll get the hint. “ _ You know _ ."   
“I really don’t.”   
“Come on…”   
“ _ Sam _ .”   
Fuck his life. He points at his own mouth, and then down at the general direction of her crotch.   
“What- oh.  _ Oh _ . He thinks the problem is that he...didn’t eat me out?"   
"Yes, Jesus. This entire conversation is TMI.” He stands up, tugging at her arm until she does the same. “Actually, yeah, just go talk to him,” he says he ushers her out of the room with only minor resistance on her part.    
"No, Sam! Wait, I can't-"   
"No, you gotta. I'm not having another dinner like that one. Talk to him. Go!" 

He gives her a heartfelt thumbs up, hoping to God that his work is done.    
Hopefully, next time he sees her or Dean, they’ll be officially together – and he can’t wait to tease his brother some more for the astronomical crush he has on that girl. 

❧ ☙ 

She walks back to the kitchen, stopping just outside the door when nerves get the best of her. 

What Sam told her sounds more and more absurd as she thinks about it – what are the chances that this was all a big misunderstanding? And if it is, it doesn't change the fact that Dean can't possibly be interested in a relationship with her. 

Dean in a  _ relationship _ . Please. Sam and Dean told her that one time they met a suicidal teddy bear, and that sounds more believable – although she's still not 100% sure the boys weren't fucking with her when they told her that story. 

Her legs feel stuck to the cold floor, and for two long minutes she hesitates outside of the room, wondering if having another conversation with Dean about this is a good idea at all. She regrets letting Sam convince her to try.   
"Sweetheart," comes Dean’s gruff voice from the kitchen, "I can hear you overthinking from here. I feel like I've told you already: I don't bite."

_ Oh, but you do, _ she thinks, clasping a hand on her neck where the marks are long gone. With a deep breath, she enters the room.

Dean is nursing a beer, hips leaning back at the counter as he slowly brings the bottle back to his lips. His expression is harder than what she saw at dinner – his furrowed brow cuts the soft shape of his eyes into something sharper, meaner. To someone else, he could look menacing, but she knows he's not angry. Pensive, maybe; or even embarrassed and trying to hide it. 

In the face of Dean’s unusual lack of nonchalance, she finds herself relaxing. If they’re both nervous, it could very well mean that there’s no reason to be. 

He clears his throat. "So, were you talking to Sammy?"   
"Yeah, and he told me something pretty weird", she answers. She walks closer, smiling a bit in hope that Dean will loosen up. "Wanna know what it is?" He nods as he puts the beer back on the counter. "He told me – and mind, I know that it sounds ridiculous – that you think I didn't enjoy sleeping with you."

Her heartbeat quickens as his eyes lock with hers, the vibrant green making her weak at the knees. Where she found the strength to tell him to stop kissing her back in the library escapes her. She still wants him  _ so _ bad.    
"Well, I thought you made it pretty clear that you didn't", he responds. "You said it wasn't good for you."   
"Dean," she sighs, "you must have seen how much I liked it. I mean, you were there, right?" 

She's inching closer to him without realizing. Dean stays still as she cages him in the circle of her arms, her hands pressing on the cold metal of the counter to avoid touching him. The intensity of his gaze makes it hard to think straight, but she refuses to break the eye contact. "I was," Dean says, "and I did think I made it worth your while. What did you mean, then?" 

Ah, here comes the truly embarrassing part to admit, the one that will probably ruin what little friendship she managed to build with him. Suddenly she can't look at him anymore. 

"It wasn't good for me  _ after _ , Dean. I don't know what it was, precisely, that made me feel...Well, that made me feel like shit. Maybe I needed some more time with you to, to come down from the high and go back to real life." Her throat hurts as she bites back tears, the memories of how she felt making her choke up.    
_ Get it together _ , she admonishes herself.  _ You're whining about nothing to a man who has been to hell and back, this is ridiculous _ .    
"It was jarring, is was I'm trying to say. And I don't want to feel like that again."   
“ _ Jarring _ ”, he repeats. “Because I left, when you needed me to stay?”   
The words, spoken in a gruff voice as he looks at her, head tilted down to see her better, make her blush. It sounds childish when he puts it like that. “Pretty much, yeah.”   
“But, sweetheart, I needed to go because of Jody–”   
“I know,” she interrupts him, “I know, I don’t blame you for that. You didn’t seem to mind, though, that’s what made me think that – that it didn’t make much of a difference, for you. That you would have kicked me out of your room either way.”

Dean clenches his jaw, looking away from her for the first time. He shifts his weight forward, forcing her to take a step back, and his hands fall on her hips in a tight grip.    
“You have no idea,” he says, “how much I’ve thought about you these past few days.” He chuckles and catches her eyes again, perfect teeth bared in a half-smile. “Hell, these past few  _ months _ . Princess, I wasn’t happy to leave – I was happy I knew you’d be here when I came back.”

The small of her back touches the table, stopping her retreat. Her breath gets stuck in his throat as Dean crowds in on her – pressing his body flush to hers on hers from thighs to chest, his warmth seeping through the fabric of the dark red Henley he’s wearing.    
He cups her face with one hand, and there’s enough strength behind the gesture to make her arch back as he cradles her close. 

_ Months _ . He’s wanted her for months, and she was too damn busy pining for him to even notice. The problem was, she realizes now, that not even in her wildest fantasies Dean liked her back. The circumstances, in her head, always had a flavour of  _ just this once  _ – what if they were celebrating something and Dean was in a good mood and she leaned in and kissed him mid-laugh and he just went along with it; what if he came back after a hunt and he was bloodied and exhausted enough to let her hold him tight in the dark of his room; what if it was their last day on Earth and he wanted to feel alive one more time and she was just  _ there _ .    
What if, what if, what if...just this once. Just this once, he would want her back. 

And look at him now, so close she can only see the curve of his lips and the gentle arch of his eyelashes, still with her and asking for more.

She kisses him.    
It doesn’t take much effort on her part. She clutches his shirt and tugs him down to her lips, and he falls into it like he was just waiting for her to make the first move.    
Dean’s a better kisser than she remembered, and it seems like now he’s pulling all his tricks to sweep her off her feet. When he sucks softly on her tongue she feels it right down to her core, and that's all she can do to moan in his mouth.

Dean breaks off the kiss and picks her up by the hips, setting her on the table. "This thing between us -I don't want it to be just sex," he confesses. She looks at him, speechless, his words kindling a hope she has never considered a real possibility. "If you also, I mean...Fuck, I really suck at this. I don't know how to say it."

He hides his face in the crook of her neck, wrapping his strong arms around her frame. 

And she knows it – that Dean's not good with words, that the important things he has always said with just his eyes and his actions. She has never heard him say ‘I love you’ to his brother, but she has no doubts that he cares about Sam so much, even more than his own life. 

"Don’t use words, then," she says. “Show me.”

She feels him nod against her shoulder. "That I can do."    
He presses open-mouthed kisses on her neck, behind her ear, and down to her naked collarbones. The tank top she’s wearing is tugged down by both of their hands, and the thin straps slide down her arms until her breasts are bared. The contrast between Dean’s hot breath and the cold air of the kitchen makes her shiver – goosebumps raise on her skin, soothed by Dean’s warm hands when he starts caressing her body everywhere he can reach.    
“Did you ask Cas to heal you?” he murmurs before closing his lips around one of her nipples.    
The velvety texture of his tongue is so distracting, she struggles to register his question. “Uh, no, he just-  _ oh my _ \- he just kind of did it. Couldn’t think of an excuse to tell him no.”

With one last lick, he raises his head to kiss her. His hands take the place of his mouth, cupping and palming her with unhurried attention. “Mh, so what you’re saying is that we’re a couple of dumbasses?” – another kiss, this time a sweet peck on the tip of her nose – “All this angst for nothing. And to think-”   
“What?”   
He chuckles, giving her a lopsided smile that makes faint crow’s feet appear at the corner of his eyes. “Well, I thought I knew what the problem was. Sounds kinda dumb, in retrospect.”

What Sam said jumps immediately in her mind: his encouragement to clear things up with his brother; Dean reaching very wrong conclusions; something about oral sex or lack thereof... 

In the artificial light of the bunker’s kitchen – with Dean’s almost-confession of his feelings fresh in her mind and his perfect, plump lips at eye-level – the conversation with Sam feels fuzzy, as if it happened ages ago instead of mere minutes. Certain details of it melt together while others are lost completely, and seeing as she is now topless and making out with Dean Winchester, kisser extraordinaire, there’s only one thing she can think of:

“It’s not dumb at all,” she says. “Actually, if you still want to eat me out, I’ll forgive you every stupid decision you’ve made to this point  _ and  _ for the next three you’ll make in the future.”

Was that too forward? Too much, too soon- oh, no, okay, Dean’s pushing her down until she’s laying on the table and undressing her of her shorts.    
She can hear him tugging a chair closer until he can sit between her spread legs. Without another word he places them on his shoulders, his fingers digging in the soft flesh where thigh meets hip.    
“You don’t care much about these panties, right?” he asks, poorly masking a groan at the view, and a second later he’s tearing the thin fabric of her underwear and getting it out of the way– and this, this is surely how she dies: naked, on a Cold War-era kitchen table, with a six-foot Adonis’s face between her legs. 

What an awesome way to go – put it in the Hall of Fame. 

It seems that Dean has intentions to her for a while, and for one long minute he just sucks marks on her inner thighs as his hands run up and down her stomach and hips. It’s still enough to make her arch against him, heart beating furiously in her chest and wetness soaking her core.    
“ _ Dean _ ,” she pleads, “baby, come on.”   
One strong forearm pins her to the table, but otherwise his touches stay torturously slow. She raises on her elbows to see him better.   
“ _ Can _ I call you baby?”, she asks, and Dean responds with a distracted  _ mm-hmm  _ without ever taking his mouth from her.    
She bends and raises one leg until her foot can rest on top of his head, making him look up at her through his lashes. “You’re being mean, you know?” she says with feigned disappointment. “I thought you were trying to make it up to me – and look now, you make me all wet and barely touch me.”   
“ _ Sweetheart _ ,” he moans, voice so low it’s almost a growl. She can’t decide if it sounds more like a promise or a warning. 

She sinks her toes in his hair, but still doesn’t push him down to where she really wants him. “Can you see it? How wet I am for you?” – his eyes immediately slide down from her face to focus between her legs – “I want you so bad, Dean, you have no idea. Your mouth, your tongue...Please, baby. Don’t you wanna have a taste?”    
Every breath she takes is shallow and feels too loud in the large room. She’s so turned on by Dean’s reaction to her words she can barely think straight: the green of his eyes is a thin ring around his pupils, and one of his hands leaves her leg to palm the bulge in his jeans. She puts some pressure on his head, and he lets her slowly guide him closer. “I know you do. I’ve heard you’re so good at this, Dean, please-”

And finally his tongue is between her folds, licking up a hot stripe from her entrance to her clit.    
Dean’s eyes are closed, his long lashes creating a shadow on his cheekbones – and despite how good it would be to lay down and enjoy the ride, she needs to commit to memory the sight of his stubbled jaw moving as he works her open with just his tongue.

Having a man as strong and physically intimidating as Dean in such a vulnerable position – looking up at her from time to time as if searching for her approval, his chin and lips smeared with her wetness – is  _ so _ erotic that she suddenly gets why he thought it so offending that he skipped this part last time.    
And, you know, she  _ does _ feels sorry for her self of few minutes ago, that poor girl who still doesn’t know how it feels like to have his lips wrapped around her clit as he sucks.    
When he dips his tongue into her and licks at her walls, his fingers wrapped with hers in a tight grip, she feels honest-to-God sorrow for every woman who’ll never get to experience this.

Okay, maybe she’s thinking crazy things. Maybe the orgasm building in her, and the knowledge that after this she’ll feel Dean’s perfect cock inside of her once again, is making her lightheaded and a bit delirious. She feels like she’s justified, given the circumstances.

“Dean -  _ Dean _ , oh my God,” she moans. “I’m so close – just like that, yes,  _ please-” _ _   
_ And Dean, God bless his soul, doesn’t change a single thing of whatever devilish thing he’s doing with his tongue – he keeps on going  _ just like that _ until all the tension in her body snaps, and she’s left with her legs quivering after the waves of pleasure recede. She  _ might _ be crying a bit. Please don’t make fun of her. 

“So,” Dean says, giving one last lick to her oversensitive clit because he is  _ evil,  _ “am I forgiven, princess?”   
She gives him a thumbs up and smiles wide when the gesture makes Dean laugh.    
“I’ll take that as a yes. By the way, aren’t you supposed to be the shy, reserved Girl Next Door?” His free hand strokes up and down her shin, while the other is still palming at his clothed erection – she notices that he unbuttoned his jeans at some point, and he’s now straining only against the fabric of his grey boxers. “First I find out you fantasize about letting me fuck you in a public bathroom, and now you lay that dirty talk on me? You’re killing me here, sweetheart.” He winks at her, tongue-in-cheek. “Also please don’t ever stop ‘cause it’s  _ extremely _ hot.”   
She’s about to respond when something starts vibrating in Dean’s pocket. He fishes his phone out, looking annoyed, and she swears right there and then that if he has to leave for some reason, she will suffocate herself with a pillow and put an end to the misery.

But Dean just smirks as he read the text message. “It’s Sam,” he explains. “He says that we better not be fucking where he has breakfast because he, and I quote,  _ has guns and knows how to use them. _ ”   
She hides her face in her hand and laughs, her cheeks growing red in embarrassment. “Oh God, you think he heard us?”   
“I think you mean heard  _ you _ , doll. If you haven’t noticed, my mouth was too busy to be making sounds.”    
Dean stands from the chair and cradles her face in his hands, pulling her close for a deep kiss that tastes of her. “We better finish this in my room. And after, I hope you’re ready for the cuddle session of the fucking  _ century _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again :D Please let me know what you guys thought - and as always, throw an 🍆 emoji in my direction if you came here for the smut and definitely stayed for the smut but also had to suffer through the rest. Okay byeee ily 💞

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again! I hope you guys likes the chapter <3 The next one is gonna start with Dean's POV, so you'll know what the fuck was he even thinking, just leaving the Reader like that _what the fuck even smh_
> 
> Every comment is cherished and tattooed directly on my forehead in very fine print so I can read it everytime I look in the mirror. Yes, that's how far I'll go for some validations, absolutely @ me 'cause I need to be shamed. Feedback about characterization is especially appreciated because Dean is difficult to write! I love him but it's a struggle!!
> 
> Chapter Two coming soon, sssssmash that subscribe button <strike>and click on the bell icon</strike> if you want to be updated. In the meantime, I do have another [Dean/Reader up on my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967002) if you were so inclined to read it <3
> 
> This was cross-posted on my Tumblr, mere-mortifer-writing.tumblr.com


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